


the only love i've ever known, burning underneath

by loamvoza



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Gen, POV Second Person, Present Tense, rinea is very much dead but she's the basis here so she gets tagged, the ending bit is third person but w/e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loamvoza/pseuds/loamvoza
Summary: how is she here? she shouldn’t be here. she is dead. she is long dead, a byproduct of a miserable grasp for more power that has long since been stripped of you. you wasted her life for nothing, and it has come back to haunt you.she has come back to face you.[Everyone's In The Same Apartment Complex AU]
Kudos: 7
Collections: apartment au!





	the only love i've ever known, burning underneath

**Author's Note:**

> ever since she was first released i've thought about how berkut would react to seeing marianne, considering she's basically a combination of him and rinea. this is the result of that.
> 
> answering a question right off the bat:  
> berkut is alive in this AU only because i will him to be. he isn't supposed to be. as a result he's physically (and mentally) fucked up from that final fight with the deliverance. :) that's where the cane comes in. cool? cool.
> 
> enjoy.

_it can’t be._

_it isn’t her._

she is saying something, but you cannot hear her. 

the way her mouth forms, it appears to be an apology — whether for starling you or simply for existing, you aren’t sure. her eyes are cast down toward the ground, her head tilted dangerously forward as if she is avoiding eye contact.

smart.   
and something you should have done. 

your fingers tighten around the cane in your hand. you can feel them begin to tremble. 

you are _weak._

you smell something burning. you hear her own guttural, pained wailing. you hear your own voice, distant and warped, cackling and mad. it hurts to breathe. 

it hurts even _more_ to breathe. 

how is she here? she shouldn’t be here. she is dead. she is _long_ dead, a byproduct of a miserable grasp for more power that has long since been stripped of you. you wasted her life for nothing, and it has come back to haunt you. 

she has come back to face you.

to tell you that you were always as miserable and utterly pathetic as everyone else had ever viewed you as. lesser, unimportant, following ideals that would ultimately lead you nowhere because that of that _son of a bitch_.

to tell you that she never truly loved you.

neither of you have moved in what feels like eons. 

she is stone still, eyes cast toward the ground, unmoving. the braid that wraps around her head is so reminiscent that it makes your heart ache and you wish that she’d pick her _fucking head up_ so that you wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. 

her hair is much shorter. it is done up, and she is missing her flowers —

which means that it isn’t her.

_it isn’t her. it cannot be._

but you have changed.  
and maybe, so has she. 

_it isn’t her. she’s dead.  
_ _she is dead, and it is by your hand._

the girl is muttering her sorries, her useless _platitudes_ , and you wish to hear none of them. you wish to rid yourself of this interaction. you wish to turn, and to slam the door. and so that is what you do. you leave her, useless and babbling as she is. 

_it is not her.  
_ _it cannot be her.  
_ _she is dead.  
_ _she is_ **_dead_ ** **.**

the door slams shut behind you, and you throw the useless cane in your hand into the sea of empty air that lies in front of you. it hits the floor with a horrific wooden clatter. one that you can barely hear over the incessant sounds that your brain insists on making. it won’t shut up. why won’t it _shut_ **_up_ **—

_lord berkut and lady rinea.  
_ _meant to be the emperor and empress of rigel.  
_ _meant to be together.  
_ _meant to finally be_ **_worth_ ** _something._

_but what of those dreams now?_

———————————————————————————

outside, in the hallway, marianne straightens her dress.   
she turns. she drops her head. she sighs. 

she makes her way back to her own apartment, confused and alone. lost is her goal of completing her task, the rug having been pulled out from under her after the mysterious exchange she’s just taken part in. her mind reels with thoughts that it shouldn’t; about her being worthless, about her not being able to do anything right, about her being just a burden. stronger now, she bites the corner of her lip, and she shakes them away.

she is unsure of what to do from here, but… one thing comes to mind.

from her pocket, she pulls her phone.

as her door clicks shut behind her, she sends the message.

**Author's Note:**

> i felt like using the image was more impactful for whatever reason so i'm using the image! neat.
> 
> i'm @vordyceps on twitter let's vibe (or not)


End file.
